Page 37 of Out of His Wits (Pride and Prejudice Variation)

“Oh yes, they have proved most popular, particularly among the young ladies,” Sir William’s smile grew strained.

“Perhaps some of the officers display rather more liberty in their manners than one might hope. There is one lieutenant who has been rather too free with his attentions—several fathers have mentioned their discomfort.”

Darcy’s attention sharpened. “Indeed? What manner of attentions?”

“He has been most attentive to several young ladies of the area. So many young ladies that I must wonder at his constancy in such matters. George Wilkins is a charmer. Handsome as Apollo, according to my Charlotte, and possessed of such address as would charm a bishop’s wife..”

Before Darcy could pursue this observation further, Sir William’s natural garrulousness led him in another direction entirely.

“But tell me, my dear sir, how proceed matters at Netherfield? I understand there was some unfortunate business with the servants. Most distressing, most distressing indeed. I was not entirely surprised by Mr. Harding’s handling of the affair.”

“You are not?” Darcy encouraged.

“Between you and me, Mr. Darcy,” Sir William lowered his voice conspiratorially, “our good magistrate is perhaps better suited to his books than to practical matters. A learned gentleman, to be sure, but one who prefers theory to the messiness of actual investigation. His interests are largely in trade. He is far more suited to auditing accounts than determining the perpetrator of a poisoning. The position requires someone with rather more worldly experience.”

“Yet he continues in the role?”

“Until Lord Matthews deigns to take an interest, we are rather at the mercy of Mr. Harding’s enthusiasms,” Sir William sighed.

“His lordship rarely sets foot in the county and regards local matters as beneath his notice. We have a magistrate more eager to review his ledgers than question a witness. Order cannot thrive in Meryton when the law is haphazard.”

Darcy absorbed this information with growing understanding. “Have you heard what the general opinion is of the conclusions regarding the Netherfield incident?”

Sir William’s expression grew more serious.

“Speaking candidly? Most of us know the Morrison family and find it difficult to credit that young Tibby would harm a fly, much less poison her betters. But Mr. Harding remains convinced of his theory, and absent any alternative investigation….” He shrugged helplessly.

“Most unfortunate,” Darcy murmured, his attention divided between the conversation and his surveillance of the taproom.

“Indeed. I understand Miss Elizabeth has taken some interest in the girl’s welfare. Most commendable, most commendable. She has always possessed a strong sense of justice, that young lady.”

At that moment, Darcy’s vigilance was rewarded. A familiar figure entered the taproom below, removing his military cap with a flourish that was unmistakably theatrical. Even at this distance, there was no mistaking that particular combination of practised swagger and shallow charm.

George Wickham had come to Hertfordshire, but not as himself.

Darcy forced himself to maintain the appearance of casual conversation whilst his mind raced with the implications. “Miss Elizabeth is indeed a lady of considerable discernment,” he managed.

“Oh indeed, indeed! I fear her father sometimes allows her rather more liberty than is strictly proper for a young lady. But then, Mr. Bennet has always been unconventional in his approach to child-rearing.”

Below, Wickham was greeting his fellow officers with easy familiarity, his manner showing no sign of the guilt or anxiety that should plague a man living under false pretences.

If anything, he appeared to be enjoying himself immensely, regaling his companions with some tale that had them laughing appreciatively .

Darcy watched a moment. The ease of it decided him.

He spoke to Sir William without taking his eyes from the hearth.

“Sir William,” Darcy said low. “The fellow by the hearth. Is that the man who calls himself George Wilkins?”

“It is,” Sir William replied. “The happiest manners imaginable, all smiles and bows. I would not trust his word across the table.”

Darcy drew a slow breath. The presence of that miscreant settled his mind. This called for steadier hands than Mr. Harding’s.

“I wonder,” Darcy said carefully, “whether Mr. Harding would welcome assistance in his investigation? From someone with perhaps more practical experience?”

Sir William’s eyebrows rose hopefully. “If you are suggesting you might offer your help, Mr. Darcy, that would be most welcome by the populace, I assure you. A gentleman of your standing and competence would lend considerable weight to any inquiry.”

“I merely wonder whether assistance would be well-received. I was considering asking my cousin, a colonel in the regulars. He has rather a knack for determining facts,” Darcy replied diplomatically. His mind was already forming plans that would render Mr. Harding’s cooperation largely irrelevant.

“My dear sir, any assistance you might provide would be received with the greatest gratitude by the town,” Sir William assured him earnestly. “The welfare of an innocent girl hangs in the balance, and I fear our current magistrate is ill-equipped to ensure justice is properly served.”

Darcy nodded thoughtfully, his gaze still fixed on the figure below. Tomorrow, he would determine how best to proceed, but at least now he knew his enemy.

Elizabeth entered the morning room to find her youngest sisters engaged in animated conversation. Their faces were flushed with excitement from their recent return from Meryton. The sight of their conspiratorial whispers immediately aroused Elizabeth’s suspicions.

“What has captured your attention so thoroughly?” she inquired, settling herself with her long-neglected needlework.

“Oh, Lizzy!” Lydia exclaimed, looking up with bright eyes. “We have just returned from Aunt Philips’s, and she told us the most delicious piece of gossip! Lieutenant Wilkins has been telling such stories about the great families in Derbyshire. You would not believe the scandals! “

“Indeed?” Elizabeth’s needle paused in its work. “What manner of stories?”

Kitty giggled behind her hand. “Shocking tales of pride and cruelty among the wealthy! Lieutenant Wilkins told Mrs. Long about a particular gentleman—he would not name him directly, being too honourable to speak ill of his betters—but the hints he dropped! “

“Merely hints?” Elizabeth asked carefully.

“Well,” Lydia said, settling back with relish, “he spoke of a gentleman of great estate in Derbyshire, worth ten thousand a year, who had treated him most shamefully. This gentleman’s father, it seems, had promised Lieutenant Wilkins a valuable living—worth near a thousand pounds annually!”

Elizabeth felt a chill, though she maintained her composure. “A living, you say. In Derbyshire?”

“Yes! The old gentleman was Lieutenant Wilkins’s godfather and had intended to provide for him handsomely.

But his godfather died and when the living became vacant, the son chose to give it elsewhere, leaving poor Lieutenant Wilkins with no means of support.

He was forced to take a position in the militia to make his way in the world.

” Kitty’s voice carried all the indignation of youth faced with perceived injustice.

“I see. Did the lieutenant give the name of this gentleman?”

“Only that he moves in the highest circles of society, and that his pride and arrogance are well known among those who know him intimately,” Kitty replied.

“Ten thousand a year in Derbyshire,” Elizabeth murmured, more to herself than to her sisters. “That is a rather specific sum.”

Lydia paused in her animated recounting, a slight frown creasing her brow.

“Indeed, it is,” Kitty agreed slowly. “We do know someone from Derbyshire, do we not?”

“We know people from various counties,” Elizabeth replied carefully, watching her sisters’ faces.

Mrs. Bennet, seated near the window pretending to read a letter but in fact listening most intently, looked up with a flutter of her lace handkerchief.

“What’s this I hear about a scandal in Derbyshire?

I do hope it is nothing to upset Mr. Bingley—he is such a steady young man, and so fond of all his friends. ”

“No, Mamma,” said Kitty. “It is about a clergyman’s living—”

“A clergyman’s living?” cried Mrs. Bennet, waving a hand.

“I declare, if every man who was disappointed in a parish were to join the militia, we should be overrun with red coats from here to Kent. Never mind the living, girls. What of the officers? Have you heard whether Colonel Forster will hold a ball?”

“Mamma,” said Elizabeth evenly, “we are attempting to understand something Lieutenant Wilkins said about a gentleman in Derbyshire.”

“Oh, that tiresome place again,” Mrs. Bennet sniffed. “If this has anything to do with Mr. Darcy, I shall not hear a word. He is no favourite of mine, but I shall not have Mr. Bingley discomposed by any talk of his friend’s affairs.”

“Yes, but,” Lydia’s frown deepened, “ten thousand a year is what you said about Mr. Darcy’s income, is it not Mamma? When he first came to the neighbourhood?”

“Yes, I do believe that is what I heard. Such a wealthy man!” Mrs. Bennet said. “A pity he is so disagreeable.”

Kitty’s eyes widened. “Mr. Darcy is from Derbyshire. His estate is called—what was it? Pemberley?”

“But surely,” Lydia said, though her voice had lost some of its earlier enthusiasm, “Lieutenant Wilkins cannot be speaking of Mr. Darcy? They are quite different sorts of men.”

“Are they?” Kitty asked uncertainly. “I mean, we barely know Mr. Darcy. He is always so reserved when he calls.”

“But he has been kind about Tibby Morrison,” Lydia protested. “That does not seem proud or cruel.”

“No,” Kitty agreed thoughtfully. “Lieutenant Wilkins did say this gentleman conceals his true nature behind a respectable pretence.”